The Beginning of Something
by hpkiwi
Summary: Four missing moments between Ron and Hermione in GoF after the Yule Ball. Ron slowly begins to confront his denial of his feelings towards Hermione. As always, he has to contend with obstacles such as a trashy reporter, a certain Bulgarian, and the return of a sociopath with no nose. Rated Kplus for mild profanity and brief mature themes. Fully canon compliant & no uses of 'Mione.'


**_A/N: Hi all! This is a selection of four missing moments involving Ron and Hermione between the Yule Ball fiasco and the end of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. The first two are based directly off segments from the novel - the second in Snape's class after the publication of Rita Skeeter's defamatory article about Hermione. Her revelation that Viktor Krum invited her over for summer finally triggers a horrible realisation for Ron about his feelings for Hermione. The third is set at Easter, while the final part takes place immediately after the end of The Parting of the Ways chapter, when Harry is asleep in the Hospital Wing after being witness to Voldemort's resurrection. The final portion also stars Ron's parents, Bill, Neville and Ginny in supporting roles.  
_**

 ** _In many regards, this fic follows directly on from my previous fic 'Lovers' Quarrel' set immediately after the Yule Ball argument and also sets Ron up for the conversation he has with Hermione at the end of OoTP in my fic 'Scars that run deeper.'_**

 ** _Readers might have noticed the dig at the common trope of using a nickname like 'Mione.' While adding such nicknames are understandable when the characters are in a relationship, I always thought that sounded far too Lavender-esque. No doubt about it, Ron would have his rear handed to him by Hermione if he ever did that :D In addition, while Ron is decidedly shallow in many regards regarding girls in GoF, I deliberately decided that his realisation moment would come some time after the Ball. Simply spotting Hermione wearing a pretty dress isn't going to trigger deep, genuine emotions in Ron - they would almost certainly have been there already, if subtly. Besides, all the more opportunity for Ron to be in denial and hilariously loathing Viktor Krum for nonsensical made-up reasons for months afterwards._**

 ** _A final note - this fic does have some unfortunate 'teenage boy going through puberty' moments and Ron's trademark mild profanity, but given I tried to write the former element discreetly, hopefully a family friendly K+ rating will still suffice._**

 ** _The Beginning of Something_**

Ron scowled at the sight of the hook-nosed git, flexing his muscles on the deck of the ship in what Ron took to be a completely cocky manner. Was it necessary for him to show off like that at every sodding moment? He looked absolutely ridiculous in those stupid swimming trunks – in January of all months.

Unbidden, memories came flooding back…..the way her smiled at _her_ …..his face only inches from hers…his appalling pronunciation of her name…..the moron might have been moderately talented on a broom, but he could barely speak English. What in the name of Merlin's y-fronts did his adoring fans see in him?

He made a noise of disgust as the bird-brain jumped straight into the frigid lake. He smirked to himself at the thought of Krum being shocked by the frigid temperatures and hastily scrambling out again. He couldn't help but nod in agreement at Harry's exclamation of "He's mad! It must be freezing, it's January!"

 _Clearly, too many Bludgers to the head over the years. That was a good sign. If he had a few more hits, then he would be unable to dance at all, or woo Harry's friends away from him…_

…..Because that was what the issue was all about. She was Harry's friend. A kind, loyal, fierce, argumentative, utterly infuriating and truly wonderful friend of Harry's. And his friend too, but that was irrelevant. He tried to push out of his head the blazing row and the final words she'd yelled at him.

 _Next time there was a ball_? As far as he was concerned, that was irrelevant. He was looking out for a friend. And looking out for Harry, too, because Krum would undoubtedly have used Hermione to get inside information on Harry. One smile at a time…

His fist clenched, remembering the excited, flushed expressions on both their faces as Hermione from a long way off spoke, revealing yet another insight about Krum that he didn't want to hear. Not anymore, anyway, and certainly not from her, of all people….

"It's a lot colder where he comes from. I suppose it feels quite warm to him."

He'd virtually never stopped replaying the five hundred thousand reasons why she shouldn't've attended with the prat, number one being how much older he was, but even he wasn't prepared to risk another fight with Hermione. He'd pushed her to the breaking point that night in the Common Room and, somehow, after looking at the hurt tattooed into her every inch of her face, he couldn't push any harder. He felt something writhe in his stomach. Just how much had the two actually discussed? There she had been, brightest and best in their year, looking radiant, chatting away with a world-famous Quidditch star like it was nothing.

"Yeah, but there's always the Giant Squid," he heard someone say, and it took a moment for him to realise the toxic thought imbedded in his brain had slipped out of his lips, unbidden. He registered Hermione's unimpressed frown, her eyebrows knotting as she appeared to scan him with some interest. That had happened a lot during The Row, too. And it scared him more than anything except Aragog and his children. He felt a small pang of regret for the venomous thoughts he'd just broadcast.

"He's really nice, you know," she said, her eyes boring into the side of his head as he resolutely kept his eyes fixed on the path ahead along the lake shore towards the Gates and Hogsmeade. "He's not at all like you'd think, coming from Durmstrang. He likes it much better here, he told me."

 _I bet he does_ , he thought savagely. The more insightful portion of his brain was shooting him warnings that Hermione was, yet again, testing him. But for what was a mystery.

What had he thought Hermione looked like earlier? _Radiant_ , that was it. Glowing, healthy, stunning….

He blanked out the dangerous track his mind was taking. She was his friend, and being female was no excuse for perverted, hormone-induced observations. She wasn't a girl after all, she was _Hermione._ Hormones could not be allowed to dictate the way he treated his friend. Why was he mad at Krum, anyway?

Harry gave a cough as he turned around from slightly ahead, staring back at Ron slightly impatiently and with a raised eyebrow. Ron's cheeks heated up as he realised he'd almost forgotten Harry. That was why he was mad at Krum. The bloody prat was waging a war of subterfuge – throwing Harry off his game in time for the Second Task by causing tensions within their group.

That was it.

Feeling justified in his fury towards all things Krum, Ron leaned down as he discovered he'd stepped onto a patch of fresh, unmelted snow. Lobbing a snowball at Harry, he was subsequently hit by a volley from the scrawny git also known as his best mate, ignoring Hermione's half-hearted objections and the sight of The Enemy frolicking around in the Black Lake. No negativity was allowed to intrude on another fleeting moment of pure fun with his two best friends. As Hermione, laughing, eventually dragged both of them along by the wrist in a vice-like grip, Ron struggled in vain to feel more concern about Hagrid's predicament.

This was the Hermione he always liked seeing daily. Hair unbelievably tangled, particularly during days of heavy wind or rain, bleary-eyed in front of the Common Room fire at some ungodly hour after finishing an essay while cooing at Crookshanks, and who could spar with him to his heart's content on any topic ranging from the academic disadvantages of liking Quidditch to Elf rights. The Hermione who was, right now, fretting (as was he to a certain extent) over Hagrid's likely mental state after Rita Skeeter's hit piece in _The Daily Prophet._ That Hermione he could always relate to. Not the other Hermione who hung out with insufferable Quidditch players, spent hours applying copious amounts of hair potion, fiddling about with her front teeth size, and fitting herself into gowns, which while very elegant, were very _un-Hermioneish._

Why did she feel the need to change like that? She was Hermione. In her own, inimitably infuriating way, perfectly fine the way she usually was.

He was so preoccupied with the thoughts rattling around his head that he completely failed to notice Fleur Delacour and two of her classmates, both deathly pale and beating a retreat towards the Beauxbatons carriage from Hogsmeade.

...

Another Potions class, another day of loathing a different hook-nosed git.

As Hermione flicked open the copy of _Witch Weekly_ to the appropriate page, Ron felt a growing feeling of foreboding.

 _HARRY POTTER'S SECRET HEARTACHE_

Well, that for a starter was a falsehood. Harry fancied Cho, and had tried to ask her to the Ball. He still fancied Cho, didn't he? He briefly exchanged a glance with Harry, whom he noticed was looking remarkably nonchalant about the whole thing. If only the same could apply to his attitude at the moment.

… _Muggle-born Hermione Granger…._ As if her parentage mattered, Ron thought furiously. He'd lost track of the number of times he'd snapped at Malfoy over that issue. The way Malfoy had casually sneered _'pity that it wasn't Granger'_ after she'd been attacked still rankled with him. If it hadn't been for Harry and Dean, Malfoy would've had some very nasty injuries inflicted on him indeed, and he didn't give a damn that it would've been in front of Professor Snape.

 _Miss Granger, a plain but ambitious girl….._

Well, that wasn't true, Ron thought, as he continued scanning the article in disgust. She was, he reasoned, kind of pretty in her own way….

His heart did a somersault as he reached the next line.

 _Krum, who is openly smitten with the devious Miss Granger, has already invited her to visit him in Bulgaria over the summer holidays, and insists he has 'never felt this way about any other girl.'_

Surely that was just Rita Skeeter talking absolute nonsense. She and Harry had never been involved together, so what reason did he have to believe this claim was any different? And why, oh why, were snakes wriggling in his gut at reading that sentence?

 _Unless she and Harry were sneaking away behind your back._

He shook his head to vanquish that nonsensical statement – Harry was too bloody obvious by half when he fancied a girl. No, the real problem was Krum. The cow might have been a compulsive serial liar in print, but Ron knew from experience with his mother and brothers that the best lie always contained an element of truth.

Just _what_ had Krum and Hermione said to each other after the Second Task?

He finished the article, wrinkling his nose in disgust at Pansy attacking his friend's looks, and the malicious suggestion that Hermione would use love potions to get her way. Not for the first time, a surge of anger rose within him at the way Hermione had been sullied in a humiliating public manner.

"I told you!" he exclaimed as he turned to face Hermione – why oh why did his face have to heat up again? Between her thorough demolition of his greatly exaggerated tale of heroics in front of Padma Patil, the awkwardness permeating the air between them since he'd found out that she was Krum's hostage (what exactly did _that_ mean?) and today, rarely had it ever been so awkward between himself and Hermione.

He'd just turned fifteen, he reasoned. It would be awkward for maybe another few months or a year, then the embarrassment would fade and their friendship would go back to normal.

' _But do you want it to be just normal?'_ piped up the irritating voice at the back of his head again.

All of these thoughts flashed through his head in a matter of seconds. Shaking it to return to the present, he elaborated. "I told you not to annoy Rita Skeeter! She's made you out to be some sort of – of scarlet woman!"

To his shock, Hermione burst out laughing as she turned to Ron. " _Scarlet woman?_ " she snorted derisively as Ron felt his ears begin to burn under her gaze. Merlin, when exactly did that start happening?

"It's what my mum calls them," Ron muttered, now eyeing the bottom of his cauldron with considerable interest. Well, he reasoned, it was better than some other phrases he knew. As if he'd let anyone get away with thinking Hermione was a sl-

Hermione's voice snapped him out of it.

"If that's the best Rita can do, she's losing her touch," she tittered, chucking the magazine away. "What a load of rubbish."

Well, that was settled, then. Hermione had said it was rubbish, and as a result, he could focus on his Wit-Sharpening Potion, not spend another hour fretting about why his stomach felt like it had gone into free-fall every time someone mentioned Viktor Krum. He did have to stifle a laugh as Hermione sarcastically waved at Pansy and the other Slytherins – he did admire her ability to take the wind out of her opponents' sails. Like with Malfoy after the ferret episode, he reminisced dreamily, smiling as he remembered Malfoy's startled expression as she'd said "Hello, Professor Moody!" Before the bloody Yule Ball, of course, when everything started to become complicated….

Ron started to pound away at his scarab beetles with his pestle, picturing each one to have the face of Snape, Malfoy or Krum.

"There's something funny though," he heard Hermione say. Ron was instantly snapped out of it, pestle hovering over his bowl. "How could Rita Skeeter have known….?"

"Known what?" he said sharply. _Please don't let it be about Krum._ "You _haven't_ been mixing up Love Potions, have you?" he added mostly in jest.

"Don't be stupid," she snapped back. "It's just….how did she know Viktor asked me to visit him over the summer?"

" _What?_ "

There was that sensation again. His stomach was in freefall. There was a clatter, and he jumped as he realised he'd dropped his pestle. Risking a glance at both his friends, he noticed that Hermione had blushed vivid scarlet, while Harry was now grinding his beetles at a considerable volume, determinedly looking at his bowl. He was on his own with this issue, he realised. Just like with his row at the Ball – Harry had excused himself, saying he didn't have a problem who Hermione came with.

And yet he, Ron, did.

"He asked me right after he'd pulled me out of the lake," she whispered, staring fixedly at the blackboard and idly playing with her hands. "After he'd got rid of his shark's head, Madam Pomfrey both gave us blankets and then he sort of pulled me away from the judges so they wouldn't hear, and he said, if I wasn't doing anything over the summer, would I like to-"

"And what did you say?" he heard himself interrupt, fixedly examining Hermione for a sign of an answer one way or another. Never before had he simultaneously needed, yet also been terrified of, such an answer.

If she'd said yes, surely she'd still come and visit the Burrow at some point over the holidays? Wouldn't she? Then again, hand me downs, irritating siblings, spark plugs, gnomes and a ghoul were surely no match for what _Vicky_ could offer in terms of hospitality. He barely noticed the loud knocking noise he was creating as his pestle missed the bowl completely and pounded on his desk.

Hermione was droning on about how Rita could've overheard her and Bird-Brain, but he found he didn't give a toss about that wretched woman.

"…Maybe she _has_ got an Invisibility Cloak, maybe she sneaked into the grounds to watch the second task…"

"And what did you _say_?" he demanded, pounding the edge of the desk with such fury, Seamus and Neville jumped. There was a clatter as a small piece of wood chipped off and fell to the floor.

"Well," she began, pink patches all over her cheeks, "I was too busy seeing whether you and Harry were OK to –"

At that, Snape swooped in like an oversized bat, took points from Gryffindor and confiscated the magazine. To Ron's fury, he began to read it aloud – if anything Rita's words sounded even worse when read by Snape. Or was that because he now knew for a fact Krum had invited her over for the summer? She was fifteen, surely that was illegal…

As Snape split the three of them, Ron found he didn't have the energy to be furious at Snape or concentrate on his potion. His thoughts were consumed by imagining Hermione and Krum doing – what was that appalling Muggle activity? Skiing. He snorted to himself at the thought of the moron falling off his skis and making an arse of himself in front of Hermione. It could happen, it was amazing how duck-footed he was on the ground…..

 _She hadn't yet said yes to him, it was okay._

 _But she likes him, didn't you see her blushing just before? You could feel the room heating up._

Ron sighed. In a way, he known it since the Ball, but he was so determined to pin another reason onto why Krum had been bothering him so much, like him trying to sabotage Harry...

 _That's right, you fancy her. For longer than you've realised too._

Even as another part of his brain tried to vigorously deny it, he knew it was true.

He now had a crush on Hermione. His best female friend. It hadn't been triggered by her going with Krum, though that had certainly been the start of him slowly beginning to realise something wasn't right with his mind….

And the confirmation Krum _was_ interested in her, in that way, had finally forced him to confront this awful truth.

When had it started? When had he started to appreciate her company in a different way to Harry's? When he and Harry had argued over his name emerging out of the Goblet? She was certainly good company then, though no compensation for losing, even if temporarily, his best mate.

He'd certainly forgotten how much he missed her company during their row over Scabbers and Crookshanks. Mortified though he was at the time in having a crying girl desperately hugging him after he'd volunteered to help her with Buckbeak's case, he hadn't particularly minded the hug. It was what friends did, after all….

Could it have begun sooner? Was his disgusted reaction to her fancying Lockhart normal and rational? Would he have reacted the same way if _Harry_ had been Petrified? Was rushing at Malfoy every time he insulted her normal and rational? Harry's fuse was somewhat longer than his in that category, he'd long since realised.

To sum it up, he still had no idea when it had begun. What mattered was that it was here, it was an issue, and he'd have to deal with the knots of jealousy he felt every time Krum was mentioned by Hermione.

"This is bloody mental," he moaned, sinking his face into his hands and rocking back and forth.

"Tell me about it," came a wry, all too knowing voice. Ron's head shot up to stare at the face of Seamus, who had turned around, eyebrow raised, and was wearing an _I told you so_ smirk.

"Piss off," Ron snapped in a low whisper, returning to his potion. He was so distracted by thoughts of Hermione and Krum swanning off somewhere romantic, of his epiphany regarding his own feelings towards her, that he found Karkaroff's barging into the class only mildly interesting.

...

Harry had finally turned in after a raucous game of Exploding Snap with Ron, and Ron was about to follow him, but then he noticed Hermione beside the fire on the other side of the Common Room, nose-deep in a book titled _Muggle Inventions: Mangled around Magic._ Quite clearly, her determination to bring down Rita Skeeter hadn't faded. Then again, that was hardly surprising given his mum's snubbing Hermione with only a token chocolate.

"It's Easter, Hermione," he sighed, plonking himself down on the couch beside her. He determinedly avoided all the senses in his body screaming at him that this was dangerous with his present state of emotions. Hermione peered sideways at him over the page of her book and scowled.

"I want to know _how_ she can get away with this," she exclaimed, slamming her book shut with a snap. "I just _knew it_ , and this book's confirming it. Radio or walkie-talkies cannot possibly explain-"

"I told you before that you're mad to take on Rita Skeeter on your own, Hermione, and neither Harry nor I can help at the…."

"I know, for pity's sake, Ron," she shot back heatedly, waving her hand in front of Ron's face. "I haven't asked you to help because I know you're still too far behind on our practical Transfiguration homework to focus on this. And I haven't forgotten the Bobotuber pus." To his dismay and anger, Ron saw that her fingers still displayed tell-tale marks from the pus.

"And I didn't forget that one of her correspondents threatened to send a curse by mail, either!" he said heatedly, some of the anger triggered by Rita's lies (for they were lies, weren't they?) and the sight of Hermione's injury leaking into his voice. "So you really need to be careful."

"I think I'm doing fine-"

"Helping Harry with the First and Second Task, this spew stuff…"

"S.P.E.W.!" corrected Hermione hotly, pink spots in her cheeks flaring now. Ron batted away the unfortunate thought of how attractive she looked even when mad, and continued as though he hadn't heard her.

"….all your homework, visiting Snuffles with Harry and I, your vendetta against that old cow and Vi-"

He stopped himself. The last thing that he needed to blurt out was _Vicky._ Had the obnoxious git corrected his pronunciation of her name yet? Did he instead call her 'Mione' or some similarly obnoxious, sickening nickname? How often did they see each other anyway? And just _what_ had been her answer to Krum's question?

"Ron?" Hermione had her lips slightly pursed, and her chocolate-coloured eyes were narrowed slightly as she stared at his expression suspiciously.

 _Merlin's saggy butt-cheeks._

How long had he been staring off into space at her for?

"Nothing," he muttered, dropping his eye contact as he felt his face begin to heat up. "Just you're cracking a bit, Hermione, and frankly, I'm worried about you."

Hermione's eyebrows disappeared into her all too messy fringe. Clearly, she wasn't expecting such a sensitive, nuanced answer.

"I'm doing fine, Ron," she said sternly. "It's _you_ who has to worry about your workload not me, and I don't have the Time Turner anymore."

Ron was grateful that the conversation had veered away from the dangerous precipice of another confrontation over Krum, and he felt it was safe to look up again. At the same time, he didn't want to be sharing a couch with such a stubborn Hermione on the last evening of the Easter weekend.

There was a _meow_ as Crookshanks bolted from Hermione's side of the couch and sat himself down in front of the fire. Pausing only to stare at Ron with the same alarmingly piercing look his owner could give, he shut his eyes and began to doze off.

A pregnant pause hang in the air as Ron looked around at the now-deserted Common Room. Truth be told, this was the first time in months he and Hermione had been this physically close and alone together, excluding a lurid, hard-to-forget dream he'd had the previous week and for which he was grateful Harry was incapable of reading minds. Or his siblings, for that matter.

He dived a hand into his pocket and began rummaging as Hermione returned to her book with her trademark huffy dignity. It was Easter, after all, and she was bloody mad to waste it on her antipathy with a malicious gossip reporter.

"Hermione?"

"Hmmmm?" she muttered, not raising her eyes off her book.

"Have the egg," he whispered, unwrapping from the foil what small remnants remained of his massive Easter egg from the Burrow.

"But it's your egg…." began Hermione tentatively, puzzlement written across her face and Ron hoped and prayed that her brilliant brain was powerful enough to figure out the apology behind the gesture.

 _I'm sorry that my own mum thinks you're a backstabbing, heart-stealing bimbo. Sorry that I behaved pathetically over Krum. Sorry that I can't think of another way to say sorry._

"…And I can do whatever I want with it," Ron responded with an air of finality. "I win this round, Hermione." He couldn't help but cockily wobble his shoulders as he smirked triumphantly back at her.

She leaned in slightly, and smacked him lightly with her book before accepting the couple of rather squashed bits of chocolate with a grateful, slightly shy smile.

Ron felt the tips of his ears begin to burn at her smile – her new smile really suited her. He did his best to ignore the realisation of how close they were to each other as she brushed against his right side slightly while also doing his utmost to brush away the memory of his dream. The last thing he needed was his body betraying him at this particular moment….

"Err…Exploding Snap?" he quickly improvised, summoning the pack after deciding that such a move had a lower chance of him mortifying himself. Much to his surprise, Hermione responded to the invitation with a grin of her own.

Once the game was completed in no time at all (Ron marveled how completely ridiculous it was that a witch of her talents and intelligence had such terrible game strategy even with something as simple as Exploding Snap, let alone Chess), Hermione returned to her book as she curled up on her side of the couch, yawning slightly. To his surprise, Ron didn't find the silence this time awkward – in fact it was decidedly companionable. Discussions about Sirius, Rita Skeeter, the Third Task, and just what was bothering Snape and Karkaroff could wait, he thought, as he unfolded his own reading material – the latest copy of _Seeker Weekly_. Neither Hermione nor Harry needed to know he'd chucked into the fire the special edition covering the Ireland-Bulgaria match one night in the first week of January. Mercifully, Krum was absent from this edition.

This, he'd long decided, was his favourite iteration of her. Too exhausted to hiss at him about his pathetic work ethic, far less uptight, and always willing to listen to his point of view, remembering the times he and Hermione had set up a two person war council on how to approach Harry during some sticky situation. Not for the first time, he felt a stab of remorse at his behaviour prior to the First Task, in marked contrast to Hermione's unfailing loyalty towards Harry.

And best of all, not a single Bulgarian prat in sight.

...

Ron watched as his best mate's facial expression morphed from one of utter exhaustion, regret and angst, to one of absolute bliss as Harry swallowed the last of his potion, smiled slightly, and slowly fell back onto his pillows with a sigh. His mother stroked the cheek of the sleeping Harry, sniffing a little before dabbing at her eyes.

"Poor dear," she whispered to Ron's dad, who looked more gaunt than Ron had ever seen him. "It's just too much to take in. Sirius Black - innocent, Crouch's son, You-Know-Who back- it's just…." Words failed her as Arthur Weasley moved closer and stroked his wife's hair reassuringly.

Ron moved to the other side of the bed to give his parents and Bill their privacy, where Hermione was hastily rearranging the pocket of her sweater almost distractedly, her gaze firmly fixed on the now peacefully sleeping Harry.

"Hey," he whispered hoarsely. Hermione jumped a little, and Ron noticed that her eyes looked slightly puffy and red.

"He'll tell us everything when he wants to," he said softly. Hermione simply nodded as Ron took a seat beside her and she sat down too.

"Wonder what Snape's doing?" she asked. "Reporting back to V-Voldemort again as a spy…."

Ron winced at the name, and Hermione whirled to look at him directly. "Oh come on, Ron," she whispered. "He's back, what difference does not saying his name make?" Ron shivered, but tipped his head all the same. Clearly, in spite of the traumatic event they'd been detached witnesses to, her logic was as good as ever. He allowed himself a small wan smile.

"It's just like last time," he muttered. "From what Dad told me, we'll barely be seeing them over the summer break. And also…" A horrifying thought hit him. "Your parents, will they be all right?"

"Her parents will be fine, Ron," came the quiet, but authoritative voice of Bill from over his right shoulder. "Since when has Dumbledore mishandled a crisis like this? He's got lots of powerful friends in the Ministry, here at Hogwarts- they all helped him fight You-Know-Who last time."

Hermione, who'd suddenly frozen at Ron's worried suggestion as though she was a deer under a spotlight, nodded gratefully at Bill's comment.

"Besides," continued Bill. "Judging from what we've seen from Fudge, he might just prefer to keep things low-key and downplay the risk. If he does that, Voldemort might decide attacking too many people is a bad idea. He's laid low for fourteen years, after all."

"Bill," came the authoritative voice of Ron's dad. "We need you over here." Grimacing slightly, Bill stood up, clapped Ron on the shoulder, nodded at Hermione, and went over to converse with his parents.

"And Hermione, Ron?" whispered Molly Weasley. "You two dears need some rest, too." Ron opened his mouth to object furiously, not caring how loud the reply was, but Arthur forestalled him by clearing his throat.

"There are some things we need to discuss," he said sternly, but with a hint of an apology. "And I'm afraid only people of age will be allowed to hear this. You've done enough for Harry - you've been here for him."

Ron was determined to not move, but Hermione with a sorry sigh stood up reluctantly, arranged Harry's duvet slightly, then with a slight tap of Ron's shoulder nodded in the direction of the Hospital Wing entrance. As the pair began to make their way away from their sleeping friend, Mrs. Weasley stood up and gave Ron a bone-crushing hug, followed by giving Hermione the same treatment. Ron distinctly heard her whisper "I'm sorry."

"It's okay, Mrs. Weasley," smiled back Hermione.

"Oh yes, yes," muttered Ron's mother distractedly, patting Hermione's back. "Just make sure you keep looking out for him, the poor dear. Who else is there but us?"

Ron was about to mention Sirius, but he scotched the idea. Harry's Godfather was, after all, still a marked man wanted for murder by the Ministry. As much as he now held Sirius in warm regard (notwithstanding the broken leg Ron had sustained), Sirius was hardly a bedrock of stability, what with living nomadically as a dog. His mum, he noticed, was still talking to Hermione.

"And one more thing, you'll be more than welcome to stay with us over the holidays, you know that?" Hermione nodded and gave her thanks as she followed Ron out.

The pair, walking side-by side, strode past Madam Pomfrey, Ron returning the Matron's curt nod as she hovered anxiously near the Hospital Wing entrance.

Once they'd rounded the corner, both felt free to break into conversation.

"I don't know where to begin," Ron heard himself say thickly. His head was swirling with the image of Harry and the dead Cedric arriving back at Hogwarts, of Harry's completely drained, shattered visage, and imaginings of whatever secret discussions were happening between his parents, Bill, and possibly also Dumbledore. In an infinitesimally small corner of his brain, he also remembered the awkwardness that permeated between him and Hermione. Unsurprisingly, the night's events had driven that issue, petty as it was, to the back of his head.

"I know," replied Hermione, her bushy mane flying dramatically as they passed a torch bracket. With the melancholy state of Hogwarts at the moment and of the newfangled menace lurking outside its walls, each dancing shadow on the wall took on a more sinister feel.

Passing the scene where Colin Creevey had been Petrified, they made their way towards the Great Hall. Voldemort was once again attacking students, this time directly. The thought of it made Ron sick to his very core.

"Mum's right," he said aloud to the abandoned corridor and Hermione. "Who _else_ does he have left?" At this, Hermione shot him a surprisingly strong expression. It was piercing, but also held some real warmth in it.

"We're his friends," she replied, nodding emphatically as Ron directed her through one of the many passages hidden behind a tapestry. "We'll always be there for him, in whatever capacity he needs."

At that, her fingers brushed his hand briefly. Much to his surprise, he barely felt any embarrassment. It was only natural after all, they were Harry's friends, each bonding together over mutual concern for their best mate. A stupid crush did nothing to change that.

"Yeah," he chimed in as they climbed the stairs to the Second Floor. "The question is, _are_ we ready?" The worm of fear burrowing in his gut wriggled more vigorously as he knew it was true. None of them had faced Voldemort directly except Harry, and to a certain degree at least, Ginny. He wondered how ready _he_ of all people was in facing the danger. Yes, he'd sacrificed himself on the magical chessboard three years previously so Harry could confront Voldemort and his servant and he'd faced Acromantula. But that was small fry compared with facing one of the most powerful wizards to ever exist.

Hermione, as always, had read him like a book.

"None of us are perfect Ron. But you're _his best friend_."

"The hell I am, look at what happened when his name was pulled from the…"

"That was a pathetic squabble," she snapped back. "Everyone has those. Tell me, Ron, would you have faced those spiders or gone into the Chamber without Harry?"

Ron was taken aback. "What? No way would I-"

"Exactly my point," she almost shouted back at him, stomping her foot for emphasis. "You've been there for him and I. When we've need it, you've _always been there._ Every single time."

The worm wriggling in his gut had subsided at least partially, but his heart missed a beat as they passed the first of two messages left merely two years previously on the wall in bloody ink. Or was it rooster blood? He'd never asked Ginny, and he knew he never would.

 _THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE._

They were all enemies of the Heir, and he was out there somewhere again, killing people that got in the way of his disgusting cause. As Ron thought of the people attacked in Second Year, not least of all Ginny and Hermione, he found that his unease was settling and being replaced with fury.

One day, Voldemort would pay for the families he'd destroyed, the people he'd threatened, maimed or slain without a thought.

"Are you going to talk with Ginny about all this?" queried Hermione. Ron jumped with a shock.

"No way," he said definitively. "You share a dorm, Hermione, and you – you really helped her after what happened to her. That's-, that's what you're good at. Helping people."

She'd always looked out for the bullied and downtrodden. Ron remembered the number of times she'd stood up for Neville, how her loyalty towards Harry had never wavered, how she'd pored over exhaustive levels of research to help Hagrid save Buckbeak. Even her bloody single-woman crusade to improve Elves' lives, however misguided, no longer irritated him as much as it once did. He turned to gauge her reaction, and he noticed that Hermione had flushed slightly with pleasure. His own ears started to burn.

"Harry and I getting through our first three years proves it," he hastily added, and he let out a yelp when Hermione swung a foot at him, smirking.

"Prat."

"Know-it-all."

As Hermione smiled at the childish jibe (their Halloween fight over _Wingardium Leviosa_ in First Year now felt like a lifetime ago), Ron's mind cast itself back to the time they were standing vigil over Harry's bed, only the insistent buzzing of an insect shattering the silence of the night. Then he remembered. No-one else could've spotted it, but being Ron, he knew what he'd seen.

Hermione had stealthily slipped something into her pocket.

"What was that you put away?" he asked, as they neared the portrait door. Hermione merely gave a coy smile as she leaned in towards Ron slightly. He prayed his face wouldn't flash clearly red in the torchlight.

"Let's just say one thing will get easier from now on," she whispered to him as he gave the password to the Fat Lady, now looking more sombre than Ron had ever seen her.

"What is it?" he whispered back.

"I'll save the news for Harry. He needs some cheering up after all." With an unusually roguish grin, Hermione clambered through the hole into the Common Room.

A handful of stragglers were there, including Fred, George, Angelina and Katie, ensconced in one corner, while Neville and a very pale-faced Ginny sat in front of the fire. Ron gave his brothers a half-hearted wave and mouthed "he's okay," to them, whereupon they visibly relaxed ever so slightly.

Clapping Neville on the back as he approached the fire, he approached Ginny, who gave him a most tremulous hug.

"You okay?" he whispered, realising how stupid he must sound. The subject of Ginny's occasional nightmares had returned in full force, and Harry had yet again barely evaded death, this time twice within twenty minutes. Some blokes had all the worst luck in the world, he thought idly, but then he corrected himself. At least Harry would always have him and Hermione, even if nothing else.

Ginny nodded. "It's okay," she yawned. "I was just being stupid."

"No, you weren't," shot back Neville and Ron simultaneously. Ron squeezed her shoulder as Hermione took a seat beside her. "Hermione's good at talking through stuff. Unless you wanted to head off to bed?" he added hastily, realizing how rude it could've sounded.

Hermione shook her head. "It's okay, Ron. You go, I'll stay."

Nodding in gratitude, Ron stifled a yawn as he waved at the half-dozen other occupants of the Common Room. "Goodnight," he yawned, nodding at Ginny and Neville as a wave of exhaustion crashed over him. What time was it? Far too late, anyway.

He paused in front of Hermione. "Thanks."

Hermione's eyebrows once again disappeared behind her tangled fringe. "What for?"

"For always being there for Harry."

"So have you," said Hermione with a wan smile. "Goodnight, Ron."

At that, she took his hand, ever so briefly, and squeezed it; Ron felt a surge up his arm as though it had been hit with a jinx. Reflexively, he squeezed back, being sure to let go almost immediately.

As he made his way to his four-poster bed, giving only perfunctory answers to Dean and Seamus as to Harry's condition, Ron settled down for the night, trying to ignore the moonlight that was illuminating the empty bed beside his. In amongst thoughts of Voldemort, Cedric, and whatever Dumbledore, Snape, Sirius and his parents were planning, he somewhat ashamedly was thinking about something, or rather, someone else altogether.

Hermione.

If the night's terrible events had made clear one thing to him, it was how much Hermione added to himself and Harry. Not merely homework help, either. She was the logical one, always, and had never failed to watch out for his or Harry's interests. Never.

All thoughts of whatever was occurring between her and Krum had been swept aside. Petty issues such as that could wait, because the magical world had just been hit with a devastating setback whose consequences would likely reverberate for months if not years.

It also meant analysing whatever he was emotionally developing towards Hermione could also be put on hiatus.

Harry's needs came first. Being there for Harry was all that mattered right now.

And nothing could stand in the way. Not a trashy reporter. Not some hook-nosed git from Bulgaria with a penchant for Wronski Feints.

Not even Voldemort himself.


End file.
